


Tisha B'Av

by Rhydnara



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bitter elven salt, Depression, Eluvians, F/M, I never said it was a good plan, Judaism, Salty Jewarden, Salty Jewquisitor, Thedas hates elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhydnara/pseuds/Rhydnara
Summary: The Exalted Council has ended, the Inquisition disbanded. What should be a happy beginning to her marriage has turned into stony silence behind a locked door. When Cullen runs out of ideas, Leliana calls upon the help of an old friend.Can the Dalish Hero of Ferelden reach the Dalish Herald of Andraste?
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Zevran Arainai/Female Mahariel, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Meet Shoshana Lavellan, my salty Jewquisitor.
> 
> Chapter one contains the entire story, while chapter two contains background on why I wrote this the way I did. If you don't care, then feel free to ignore the second chapter.

Shoshana Lavellan curled up under a blanket, sitting in a shivering ball on the small bed in her quarters. The journey back from Halamshiral had been spent in sullen silence, with her companions barely keeping their anxiety in check. She’d locked the door to the small room in Haven’s keep after they’d returned from the Exalted Council and hadn’t been seen since. 

Once her friends had found her in a bloody heap outside the eluvian, the rest of the council went by in a blur. Lavellan vaguely remembered rushing through an explanation of what she’d learned, then she’d let Josephine disband the Inquisition and they’d set off for Haven. Or rather, she climbed onto her horse and essentially let herself be dragged back. The former Inquisitor had been in no state of mind to direct anything. The ragged stump of her arm was tended to, and she weakly submitted to the healers’ instructions. Her former advisors tried their best to wrap things up, and her husband, Cullen, held her through it all.

But as soon as they arrived in Haven, she disappeared behind the door.

How long had it been? She wasn’t counting days. They’d tried talking to her through the solid wood door. Tried reasoning with her. Eventually they’d tried picking the lock. Someone even suggested they pull the pins in the hinges, but a quick spell made that impossible.

It made sense that they would worry so much. From the very beginning, when she had stepped out of the explosion at the Conclave, Shoshana Lavellan had been full of piss and vinegar. A fiery Dalish elf, she was willing to take on Thedas if it meant better rights for her people. She defied all expectations, standing up to the Chantry, Val Royeaux, even Empress Celene. She befriended the mysterious apostate elf Solas and even briefly entertained a flirtatious relationship with him. But gradually, Lavellan came to see Thedas for things other than the pain done to her people. She saw Cassandra as a strong, loyal friend instead of a hardline Chantry fanatic. Dorian became her soul mate instead of a Tevinter slave driver. And Cullen became her lover, and eventually her husband instead of a mage hating Templar.

But Lavellan never forgot the pain she had grown up with. The knowledge that, through it all, nearly every culture and age within Thedas had pressed down on the elves. Tevinter kept them as slaves. An entire Exalted March had been initiated against them. And her own parents had died in an Alienage raid. Despite the best effort of the Dalish, Elvhen history was almost entirely lost to time, and to cruelty.

So when she walked the paths within the eluvians, and saw the remnants of Elvhenan, the agony in her heart grew to a breaking point. Tears slipped down her cheeks when she saw what was left of Vir Dirthara. Speaking with Solas and seeing the possibilities he promised was excruciating. 

Yes, she loved her friends. She loved her husband. But…

And now she sat, huddled on the bed, staring at the floor. Lavellan was frozen, stuck between worlds. Stuck between thoughts. Her friends, her husband, Thedas as it is now. Elvhenan and the promise of justice and Thedas as it had been.

_Ir abelas, lethalin. Lathbora viran._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen Rutherford, the former Commander of the Inquisition, knelt at a small altar to Andraste within Haven’s main keep, praying desperately.

It had been three weeks since they had returned from Halamshiral and the Exalted Council. Three weeks since he had held his wife’s broken body and listened to her whispered explanation of that Maker-damned elf’s treachery. Three weeks of stony silence and a solid wooden door.

At first, he’d hoped he could coax her out. Cullen begged and pleaded with Lavellan, trying to convince her that they could defeat Solas. She had nothing to fear because she still had him, still had Cassandra and Josephine and allies spread across Thedas. Dorian and The Iron Bull would come if she only said a single word.

But the days stretched on and the door stayed sealed shut.

Bits of food occasionally disappeared around the keep, so at least he knew she wasn’t starving. But every evening Cullen went to bed alone was another knife in his heart.

In the darkest recesses of his mind, Cullen thought that, had he still been on lyrium, this problem could be solved within an instant. But he immediately chastised himself for the thought. He could never use such powers on his treasured wife, and he thanked the Maker every day she had helped him overcome the Chantry’s leash. That life was good and dead behind him.

After sending word to Val Royeaux that they’d run out of ideas, Divine Victoria had offered one last hope. There was one person in all of Thedas who might be able to reach the former Inquisitor. One person who had grown up under similar circumstances, who experienced the same kinds of discrimination and fear, and who had been forced to rise above their lot in life to overcome evil and save the world.

The Dalish Hero of Ferelden.

Maybe, _just maybe,_ Rivka Mahariel could get through to Shoshana Lavellan and bring her out of her paralyzing fear and back to him.

Miraculously, Leliana had been able to get in touch with her old friend, and the Warden was due to arrive that day. 

Thus Cullen clasped his hands together before the armored figure of Andraste and silently begged the Maker that this plan would work. He thought of the amazing woman he had fallen in love with, and the long journey it had been earning her trust. Where she initially lashed out in anger at anything related to the Chantry, that anger eventually turned to quiet acceptance as she realized he was more than his devotion. Likewise, Cullen had grown to admire her Dalish culture, the perseverance required in order for them to survive the harsh realities of life on the move. Their relationship was one of mutual support and love, and he’d be damned before he saw that apostate come between them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The years had not been kind to Rivka Mahariel. Her hair had started to turn grey and her veins were traced with red, standing out against the delicate markings of her vallaslin. The deep lines around her eyes should have been signs that she lived a cheerful life, but instead they spoke of demanding years on the road, searching for a cure for the disease that had torn her world apart years earlier.

Still, her body was strong and her mind quick, and the ever-comforting presence of her beloved husband beside her helped Mahariel keep herself centered. As long as they were together, the monsters that haunted her world could be kept at bay. 

Zevran Arainai, for his part, barely looked a day older than when he had first tried to take the Warden’s life. He had grown his hair a bit longer and there were a few extra laugh lines around his mouth, but for the most part, he was still the picture of springy health. 

As they walked through the gates of Haven, both Mahariel and Zevran reflected on the last time they had entered the strange town. It was a far sight better now, they reasoned. Gone was the eerie hush, the violent cultists, the bizarre magics that made their skin crawl. Instead, the small town had a few log huts, evidently recently repaired, and a lone keep with Chantry banners fluttering in the cold breeze. Snow capped every roof, and Zevran shivered, once again cursing the bitter Ferelden cold. Mahariel just grinned, breathing in the chill.

As they mounted the steps to the keep, the door swung wide before they had the chance to knock. A haggard looking Cullen Rutherford stood holding the door open, gratitude sketched on his face.

“You came,” he whispered, awe struck to see the woman who had saved his life so many years ago. Mahariel took a second to assess the new Cullen, noting his new armor and slicked back hair. Barring the obvious stress of the last few weeks, he looked much better than the tortured boy she had encountered in the Ferelden Tower. Mahariel gave him a reassuring smile and was about to ask where Lavellan was when Zevran cut in.

“My my, Commander. Aren’t we looking ravishing today?”

Mahariel rolled her eyes while Cullen just gaped at him, his mind too distracted to process the assassin’s words. With a sigh, Mahariel pushed past the two and strode into the keep. Zevran threw Cullen a grin and followed. 

Getting right to the point, Mahariel found Lavellan’s quarters and knocked sharply on the door. When that failed to elicit a response, she spoke harshly.

_“Ptach et hadelet ha’arura ya idyot.”_

Cullen looked at Zevran, raising an eyebrow. Zevran just shrugged. He knew about as much elvish as Cullen did. But when the door opened, both men drew in a sharp breath. Mahariel didn’t hesitate. She ducked in and quickly slammed the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Mahariel stepped into the room, the stench of unwashed bodies and stale food overwhelmed her. Plates with half eaten slices of cheese and rotten apples littered the floor, amidst empty wine bottles and soiled rags. A small bed was tucked into the corner, and on it, the Herald of Andraste, once the leader of the mighty Inquisition, sat huddled in a pitiful ball. 

Mahariel spied an upturned stool lying among the refuse and set it on its feet across from the bed. She sat down and rested her arms on her thighs, waiting for Lavellan to sit up. When that failed to elicit a response, she reached out and pulled the blanket out of the other woman’s grasp.

Lavellan, her hair a messy tangle and her eyes dull, slowly sat up. She met Mahariel’s eyes briefly, and then stared at the floor. Her clothes were wrinkled and stained, and it was obvious she hadn’t changed in quite some time. Mahariel could tell Lavellan had used some sort of magic in the beginning to keep the room clean, but by this point, the woman had given up. She was technically still alive, but was no longer trying.

“Shoshana, look at me.”

Lavellan breathed a huge sigh, and lifted her head to meet Mahariel’s eyes again. “What do you know?” She asked, her voice coming out scratchy, having been unused for so long.

“Well, let’s see, “ Mahariel started. “One of your companions, an elven apostate, accidentally created the greatest threat Thedas has ever faced, then infiltrated the Inquisition, gained your trust while lying to you the entire time, betrayed and abandoned you, then re-infiltrated the Inquisition, and now wishes to tear down the Veil and raise the Elvhen kingdom anew. Doing so will destroy our world and kill everyone we know and love, including, most likely, ourselves.”

Lavellan nodded, her gaze having returned to the floor.

“He then butchered you and left you to die.” Lavellan rubbed at the stump of her arm and continued nodding.

“Upon returning to Haven, you then locked yourself in your room for three weeks, too terrified to face the world. Do I have it so far?” Mahariel’s voice was sharp, accusatory. Lavellan was the supposed Herald of Andraste. This was a danger she should be able to face.

Lavellan studied the pattern the wood grains made in the floor. The silence grew between them until she finally whispered a heavy “No.”

“No?” Mahariel asked in mocking surprise. “What am I missing?”

Lavellan finally looked up and met her gaze. “I tried to go with him.”

Mahariel’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she quickly followed Lavellan’s line of thinking. “You want Arlathan reborn.”

But Lavellan just shook her head and pulled her shoulders in, trying to make herself as small as possible. “I don’t know. I want the suffering to stop. For our people to stop crying out in anguish. You just don’t understand.”

Mahariel softened her gaze and reached out to grab Lavellan’s hand. She stroked the other woman’s palm, trying to convey some sense of empathy. But the words that spilled from her mouth were anything but.

“Shoshana, that’s really fucking stupid.”

Lavellan stiffened and jerked her hand back. She opened her mouth to protest, but Mahariel cut her off.

“My father was killed by humans before I was born. My mother barely held on until she gave birth, and then immediately killed herself. So I understand suffering. But what you’re talking about isn’t going to stop that. Because your plan doesn’t take into account the fact that my mother _chose_ to leave me an orphan. It doesn’t take into account the fact that my friend Tamlen and I _chose_ to explore an abandoned cave and mess with a cursed eluvian, infecting us both with the Blight. It doesn’t take into account the fact that another friend of mine, Merrill, _chose_ to summon a demon and dabble in blood magic, actions which led directly to the death of our keeper, Marethari.

“So you see, my dear Herald, I _do_ understand suffering. I also understand that mages across Ferelden and Orlais were imprisoned for centuries according to the Chantry’s will. And that anyone among the Qun who do not agree are either killed outright or brainwashed until they fall back into line. Initiates to the Antivan Crows are bought as slaves and frequently die during their training. And casteless dwarves are forced to live in the outskirts of society, separated from family or loved ones until they succumb to starvation or disease.”

Lavellan shook her head and started to answer. “But what about – ”

“But what about nothing,” Mahariel cut her off again. “Herald, _anachnu lo machzikim monopol al sevel.”_

At that, Mahariel reached out and placed a hand under Lavellan’s chin, forcing her to look directly in her eyes.

“You have friends and a loving husband to protect. You have allies spread out across Thedas. You have a righteous cause and enemies to fight.” Mahariel dropped her hands to her thighs and used them to push herself to her feet. 

“And tearing down the Veil won’t help that. It will put our loved ones in danger. It will put Cullen in danger. It will put Zevran’s life in danger.” When Lavellan’s gaze dropped to the floor again, Mahariel grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly hauled her to her feet.

“Let me make myself very clear here. If you put _my husband’s_ life in danger, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen paced the hallway. He’d rubbed his neck so many times he was starting to pull out his hair. He tried to filter out the sounds of the Warden’s companion perched on Josephine’s desk, the two of them shamelessly flirting in Antivan. 

It felt like the two women had been locked in the room for hours, though in all likelihood it had only been a few minutes. Cullen hoped that if he concentrated enough, he would be able to hear the two of them talking. Or maybe yelling. At least _some_ sign that the Warden was making progress. But the heavy door muffled all sounds and Cullen continued to pace.

After enough repetitions back and forth across the carpet it felt like he was going to carve a furrow through it, the door finally swung open. Mahariel stood in the doorway loosely holding Lavellan by the shoulders, gently guiding her into the hallway.

Lavellan’s eyes were puffy and red, but she had a resolute look on her face. Cullen ignored her disheveled appearance and forced down a hard swallow, relying on his Templar training in order to not grab her in a bear hug. He and Mahariel exchanged a silent nod, and Cullen led Lavellan by the hand off to get cleaned up.

Mahariel, a cocky grin on her face and a certain swagger in her step, wandered over to where the ambassador sat behind her desk. Her husband was leaning over, a dagger lazily spinning through his fingers.

Before she could sneak up on him, Zevran spun around and opened his arms wide.

“Mi amor! Did you know this dream of a woman is from my dearest Antiva?”

Mahariel chuckled and slipped her arm around his waist. “Yes love. I did indeed.” She placed a kiss on his cheek and steered him toward their own quarters. “Right now, though, I would very much like a bath, and then nap.”

“A bath, oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “My two favorite things in cold weather. Bare skin and hot water.”

Mahariel just rolled her eyes and pulled him away. In the background, she could hear Josephine’s quiet laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, as Lavellan lay nestled against her husband, she walked the endless paths of the Fade.

_The former Inquisitor called to mind the alienage in Val Chevin, with its soaring vhenadahl and pressing walls. The overwhelming scent of sweat and disease and anguish. The keeper of Clan Lavellan had heard there was a mage newly awakened to their power and was trapped by terror, with the Templars nearly on their doorstep. So a few members of the clan rushed into the town, ready to help lest the hapless mage be torn to pieces by overzealous followers of the Chantry._

_As Lavellan stood by, she watched as her parents hurried through the door. Always believing in the goodness of others, they wouldn’t have hesitated to assist the keeper in whatever task was set before them. It was a lesson they tried to instill in their only child. It was a lesson that felt like bitter bile in her throat._

_A crowd was forming around the small house now, both vallaslin and unmarked faces alike hovering nearby, waiting with baited breath to see if the young mage could be saved. Lavellan wanted to shout, to warn them, that any crowd in an alienage was dangerous. She could already hear the Templars coming._

_But Lavellan had watched this scene too many times to know that her voice would be ignored. As soon as the heavily armored feet marched into the crowded street, the soldiers caught the scent of magic and blood started to spill._

_Lavellan walked on and the scene faded. A little further, she walked into the alienage in Ferelden. Little by little, she watched as people disappeared. The Warden and her companions ducked under door frames and snuck behind alleyways to discover that Tevinter slavers were hauling people off, shoving them into cages. Children cried as they were ripped away from their parents’ arms. The slave markets in Qarinus would be busy in the coming days. The candles around the soaring Vhenadahl remained unlit as its tenders failed to worship at its feet._

_Lavellan turned away and on the horizon, she saw a man sprawled on a stone floor. His hair was shocking white, and his skin sported tattoos made of lyrium. Lash marks carved into his back wept blood and he curled into himself, refusing to cry, to let them see how deep his hurt ran. He hadn’t eaten in days and the gnawing emptiness in his heart threatened to overwhelm him. A voice from the stairs called “Where is my little wolf?” He scrambled to his knees and pressed himself as far into the corner as he could, his blood running cold in terror. Any hope of better days ahead, of a shining woman with eagle’s wings and a red ribbon around his wrist, lay dead within him. This was his world and all he’d ever known. All he ever would know._

_Lavellan turned again, and inhaled the scent of houses burning. The alienage in Halamshiral was on fire, set aflame by Empress Celene herself. People were screaming, trying to save what little they owned. Then, as the flames grew higher, trying to save themselves. Outside the city limits, Lavellan watched as the empress sat on her horse with soldiers flanking her on each side, satisfied with the work they had performed. Elves lay dying in the chaotic streets, but Celene had secured her throne._

_Lavellan didn’t have to look very far to see Briala hidden behind a curtain, blood spilling across the floor, the butchered bodies of her parents spread out in front of her. Every servant who worked for Celene lay dead, their throats cut in some macabre dance, some perverse political maneuver called “The Game.” Elven lives traded so the humans could determine who better deserved to govern the country._

_Way out in the distance Lavellan could see The Dales, a promised homeland, on fire. Soldiers carrying banners emblazoned with the Chantry’s Sunburst charged ahead while aravels streaming flames lay in crumpled heaps by the roadside. Revered Mothers chanted litanies while sprinkling sacred herbs on the desecrated ground, over the charred corpses of children too slow to avoid the carnage. The banners were planted, the land reclaimed._

_Lavellan turned one last time and called to mind the bedraggled remains of Clan Lavellan as they struggled across the foothills of the Frostbacks. Their first wasn’t ready but had been forced to take command. Leading them as far away from Val Chevin as possible, they struck out for Ferelden, hoping to find more hospitable land. But with so few in number, starvation was hitting them hard. Some foul disease had struck their halla, and they were dropping like flies._

_Lavellan slowly turned in a circle. Everywhere she looked, she saw elves suffering. Crying. Bleeding and dying. Images from the distant past to the present lay at her feet, and even when she closed her eyes, she could still hear their screams. When she opened her eyes again, Lavellan looked at the herd of halla and saw a wolf with too many eyes staring back at her. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen the wolf, but normally she only caught a glance as it melted into the background. Now, it seemed to openly challenge her. Invite her. Welcome her._

Lavellan woke with a start, then forced herself to take a breath and remember where she was.

Haven. With her husband. Her human husband. Her human, former Templar husband. Her human, former Templar husband with his arm curled around her, holding her tight.

Lavellan let out the breath and gently extricated herself, then sat up. In the low light filtering in through the bottom of the door, she turned around and looked down at Cullen. His face was relaxed and he appeared to be sleeping soundly. She absentmindedly tucked a curly strand of hair behind his ear and brushed his cheek.

Everything seemed so simple back in Skyhold. She loved him and he loved her. After Lavellan left Solas in Crestwood, Cullen had been there for her and their love had blossomed like flowers on a summer day. Marrying the commander was the easiest decision she’d made ever since the explosion at the Conclave three years ago had ripped her life apart. And with her in charge of the Inquisition and Briala the power behind the Orlesian throne, it seemed like southern Thedas would finally bend to the Elven will.

But the Inquisition was disbanded. And how long could Briala hold power? As Shoshana looked down on Cullen while he rested peacefully, all Lavellan could see were the empty bookshelves in Vir Dirthara, the lush fields surrounding the eluvians, the pulsating pink skies of the Crossroads. She heard her parents’ anguished cries as they were cut down by Templars driven by blood lust, and she remembered the frescoes of Fen’Harel removing vallaslin from recently freed slaves.

Vallaslin that she still wore on her face.

_Anachnu lo machzikim monopol al sevel._

No, they didn’t. But the elves of Thedas came pretty damn close.

Finally making up her mind, Lavellan stood and walked over to the desk in the corner. She pulled out a piece of paper and hastily scrawled a note.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mahariel leaned back against Zevran while he kneaded her shoulders with practiced hands. They sat relaxing in their quarters, the low light of the evening slowly filtering through the window placed high on the wall.

They sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally Zevran would twirl a strand of her hair around a finger, then tuck it behind her delicately pointed ear. Then he would go right back to easing her aching muscles in well-rehearsed movements. 

Mahariel thought back to the terse conversation she’d had with Lavellan earlier in the day. Well, not exactly a conversation. More like a lecture.

_Shoshana, that’s really fucking stupid._

She was never really known for polite tact. Maybe Mahariel had been a little harsh on the Herald, but it was something she’d needed to hear. And it had worked, hadn’t it?

Truth be told, Mahariel really did understand where Lavellan was coming from. Those early days with Alistair and Morrigan, Mahariel had been just as full of spite as Lavellan was. Separated from her clan, forced among the shem who had murdered her father, she wanted nothing to do with the Grey Wardens or the Fereldans or the Chantry. She almost died from an infected arrow wound because she refused to let either human mage tend to her until Zevran called her an idiot and practically dragged her in front of Morrigan.

Zevran had been her go between with the humans for a while. He was great like that, being understanding but also pushing her when she needed it. It was rather ironic that the first person she trusted was the one that tried to kill her. But with his coaching, Mahariel gradually began to trust Morrigan, and then Alistair, and then realized the people around her really didn’t have it out for the Dalish. 

Sure, there was still plenty of evil in the world and her city brethren were forced to live in ramshackle alienages. And that psychopath Loghain sold them into slavery to Tevinter. But as Mahariel saw more of the world, she learned that suffering was universal.

With her newfound friends behind her, and her beloved Zevran beside her, Mahariel took on the archdemon for all of Ferelden, not just for her Dalish clan.

“Tesoro?” Zevran’s voice cut into her thoughts.

“Hmm?” She asked, twisting around to look at him.

“You seem to be a thousand miles away. And you know how I dislike it when you travel without me.”

Mahariel sighed and let a tired smile cross her face. She cupped his cheek and leaned her forehead against his. “Forgive me, vhenan. I am here.”

Half of Haven could hear their lovemaking that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Mahariel woke to find the bed next to her empty. _He’s probably off flirting,_ she thought to herself.

Sure enough, when she left the warmth of their room, Mahariel found Zevran perched on the Antivan woman’s desk again, positively leering at her. The woman – Josephine, Mahariel reminded herself – was graciously smiling back, at least. Mahariel gave a little wave, then continued out through the massive wooden doors of the keep.

Where she found Cullen, sitting alone, clutching a note that read _”S’liychah."_

Alarm bells rang in her mind. Cullen silently handed the note up to her, and Mahariel scanned the hastily scrawled lettering. Her face grew hard.

Zevran came up behind her and wrapped his arms around his wife.

“Mi amor, what does it mean?”

Mahariel’s voice was as cold as ice. 

“It means I have to kill the Herald of Andraste.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background explanation for why I wrote this the way I did. Feel free to ignore this chapter.

For stylistic reasons, I’ve replaced much of the Elvish language and culture with Judaism. When designing Dragon Age, David Gaider took inspiration from my faith in the creation of the city elves, in that they are separated from society and forced to live in the alienage. I’ve taken this personally to heart and have expanded this to all elves within Thedas. I feel that it’s a good representation for the plight of the elves, all the way from the fall of Arlathan to the present. I should stress, however, that this is a _personal_ decision of mine. All David Gaider has expressed is that he took inspiration when designing the city elves. Any current similarities between the Dragon Age elves and Judaism are up to interpretation and are not the intent of the developers. 

Still, from my interpretation, there are plenty of similarities. Tisha B’Av is a Jewish holiday where we remember the fall of the Temple in Jerusalem. Yes, we have a holiday for it. It’s also a time when we remember all the awful shit that’s happened to us. This is separate from Yom HaShoah, which is when we remember the specific awful shit that happened during the Holocaust. We need two separate holidays to remember. 

When Lavellan says the elves come pretty damn close to having a monopoly on suffering, there are definitely times in my life when I feel like that’s true. Part of the problem is that Jews have an inordinate fascination with remembering all the awful shit that’s happened to us, and part of the problem is that SO MUCH awful shit has happened. For the last two thousand years, nearly all of Europe has tried to exterminate the Jewish race. It’s only within the last few decades that that has really changed. And even so, there are still Neo-Nazi groups out there calling for our destruction.

Looking at all three Dragon Age games, the elves, both Dalish and city, seem to be stuck in the same pattern. Yes, we discovered in DA Trespasser that the Evanuris technically started the whole thing. But that does not excuse the generations of humans who perpetuated it. Slaves in Tevinter, barely tolerated servants in Orlais, stuffed into alienages in Chantry led countries, the Dalish barely clinging on in hostile territory. 

All of this is to say, if I were Lavellan and Solas were to tell me he could throw a wrench in the humans’ control of Thedas? Hell _yes_ I would try to go with him. As a Jew, I carry two thousand years’ worth of pain. I know what it feels like. Even if Solas’ plan isn’t a good one, at least it’s something.

That said, I can also see how it’s an incredibly destructive plan and under even slightly different circumstances, someone could come down against it. In addition, misery is pretty universal in Thedas. From the mages to those infected with the Blight to the dwarves sundered from the Titans, Thedas is rife with suffering. That’s why Rivka Mahariel calls Shoshana out on her bullshit. It’s a very fine line the two women have to walk.

You may love my salty Jewquisitor and salty Jewarden, you may hate them. But don’t you dare judge them until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> _Ir abelas, lethalin. Lathbora viran:_ I’m sorry, friend. I long for a thing I do not know
> 
> _Ptach et hadelet ha’arura ya idyot:_ Open the damn door, you idiot
> 
> _Anachnu lo machzikim monopol al sevel:_ We do not hold a monopoly on suffering
> 
> _Tesoro:_ Sweetheart
> 
> _S'liychah:_ Forgiveness


End file.
